


imagine being loved (by me)

by catfisher



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dream Smp, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Heartbreak, Horrible toxic love, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Not Beta Read, Prison, Torture, but still, but they are not together, they just have a past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 19:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30127410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catfisher/pseuds/catfisher
Summary: „What do want me to do? You brought this upon yourself.“ George’s voice is calm and unbothered. Dream could kiss him until his lips bleed, until he suffocates on it. He wants to ruin him, to never see him again, to have him here forever.or:Quackity keeps his promise. He visits Dream's cell everyday and brings his axe with him. But Dream doesn't break. Until one day, he brings George instead.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	imagine being loved (by me)

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Quackity's last SMP stream, where everyone involved was doing rp and since the story line got pretty dark, I feel obliged to say: please read the tags carefully and don't continue reading, if you might get triggered by anything on there. Take care of yourselves people :) The violence isn't super extreme, but definitely there. 
> 
> Also: the comfort part of the hurt/comfort is quasi non-existent in this first part. Sorry, I got carried away. I guess I am a bad person. 
> 
> Other than that, please enjoy!

> _the last witness before the wave hits_
> 
> _marveling at god_
> 
> _before he feels alone one final time_
> 
> _and marries the sea_
> 
> _imagine being loved by me._
> 
> _— talk, hozier_

His days used to be golden. Blood would cling to him and paint cruel shapes on his skin, slowly drying under his fingernails. But it were the wounds of his enemies that stained him. It was his fist, his axe and his rage that cut them open. Walking felt like flying back than, his laughter echoing through the lands like a battle cry. He had been glorious, he had been free and reckless.

More than that, Dream had been a god.

Now, his days were black and crimson, buried under the unforgiving weight of his endless confinement. Marred by the sound his screams. The only blood in this cell, was his own.

Today he looked clean though. He had been given apples this morning, yet his mouth still tasted like ash. His clothes were changed too, the mottled jumper swapped for a spotless one. Dream wondered why. The cuts hadn’t been as deep or as numerous as they usually were, before the sweet release of the apples was permitted.

Dream knew that Sam didn’t like coming into his cell, not after what happened with Tommy. He usually didn’t see the warden more than once a week, sometimes even less. In his grimmer moments he wanted to believe that Sam was ashamed of what he let Quackity do, that he was absent out of guilt. Wether or not that was true, he avoided him for as long as possible. So what was the reason for the change in their routine?

The answer to that riddle came faster than expected, in the exact moment the lava lowered. Quackity wasn’t alone on the other side of the abyss. Next to him stood another man. Dream recognized his thin frame immediately, the sight sending small waves of shock through him.

George was here, he was finally here. After weeks, after months. _After lifetimes._

Dream watches as George turns away from him, looking like he wants to leave. Quackity holds him back, with a supportive hand on his shoulder. George leans into the touch, the pair of look like confidants. He feels pure, poisonous hate curse through his veins. Quackity says something to George that seems to be reassuring. Dream wants his hands off George, those same hands that cut and bruise and punish him daily.

Quackity’s persuading seems to have worked, as George slowly steps onto the stone bridge alone. While he comes closer, Dream admires how his pale skin is reflecting the orange glow of the molten stones beneath him, illuminated and shining like the moon. He is just as beautiful. Beautiful, detached and forever out of reach.

„You look terrible.“ George says as he walks onto the obsidian. Dream almost laughs. Sam had gone to so much trouble to make him look presentable for nothing.

„Glad to hear you care.“ He croaks, aiming for a teasing tone that is lost, because his voice is to coarse. He clears his throat with a cough.

„I don’t“, George answers. „It was just an observation.“

„If you don’t care, what are doing here Georgie?“ Dream coos, glad that he manages to sound patronizing at least.

„I didn’t want to come. Quackity kept pestering me. He told me you’re a danger to yourself. That you were threatening to jump into the lava. They need you alive.“

George was so naive. Too trusting, too easy to lie to.

„You’re so stupid.“ Dream spits, malice apparent in familiar words, a phrase he used to say fondly.

George only rolls his eyes at him, like he always does. He looks unbothered. Dream wants him to be angry, or sad, or fucking anything. Just to stop him from being bored, standing there after months of silence, after everything Dream had to endure. Acting like this was normal.

„Come on now, even you can figure this out. The only danger to me, is Quackity. Did you know that Sam lets him bring weapons in here?“

He sees realization shimmering in George’s eyes, but nothing else. No anger, no pity. _So he truly doesn’t care._ It hurts more than he expected.

„How are you this callous?!“ Dream asks, almost screams it at him. George just blinks. „Are you getting a kick out of this? Are you really fucking fine with that asshole torturing me?“

„What do want me to do? You brought this upon yourself.“ George’s voice is low and calm. Dream wants to choke him to death. He wants to kiss him until his lips rip open, until he suffocates on it.

„I always knew you were cold, George. But at least you used to be a person. Its like your completely empty now.“

Something rips across George’s face, something that looks a lot like hatred. Finally. The smaller man steps closer to him, until their barley an arms length apart.

„You took everything from me.“ George doesn’t raise his voice, but there is a dark and uninhibited coloring on his tongue now. „You took my friends, my pride, my crown. And the worst thing, you took-…“ He takes a shuddering breath and Dream almost hopes for tears, before his gaze hardens again and he continues evenly. „ _You_ left me, Dream. _You were mine and you were-_ … with you gone, I had nothing. Not even air in my lungs. I was drowning. Everyday. Starving everyday. Of course I am empty now, Dream. Of course I am void. You took everything.“

Dream also takes a step closer, hovering his fingers over George’s cheekbones. Until he feels his shuddering breath on his face.

„I did that to protect you. Because I loved you.“ He whispers and it should be monumental to say those words after all this time, but it isn’t. Especially not with George rolling his eyes again, taking a step back. Dream misses his warmth as the gap between them widens, even though everything he has known in these past weeks was scorching heat.

„Oh please, that wasn’t love.“ George scoffs, painfully distant again. „It was devotion at best, an obsession at worst. And anyway. You never did shit for me. You didn’t protect me. You were on some sick power trip. You thought you could do whatever you wanted, without consequence. So don’t you dare fucking say-… don’t use the word _love_ , when all you ever did was ruin me.“

Dream looks at George. Really, truly looks at him. His beautiful boy, his blue bird. Soft hands, sharp words, bright eyes. George was wrong. He had loved him — loved, loved and loved him.

„You ungrateful whore.“ He says. George doesn’t even move, keeping his porcelain countenance. A stranger might take the blush on his cheeks for anger, but Dream knew better.

„If I am a whore, you are a thief. I don’t remember getting paid.“ He replies coolly and now it is Dream’s time to scoff incredulously.

„A whole kingdom wasn’t enough for you?“

George crosses his slender arms.

„More a loan than payment, wouldn’t you say?“ He appears so casual. Standing in Dream’s cell, his fucking torture chamber, as if it were a kitchen and their argument revolving around dirty dishes. It makes Dream miss a life he never had. It makes him ravenous.

„What do you want then, the book? Thats why your here, right? Quackity thinks this is all it takes. You could get on your knees, suck my cock and I suddenly remember what it means to be human. I’ll hand over the _one thing_ that guarantees my life, in exchange for what? Your fucking pity? I am not that desperate.“

„I don’t care what Quackity thinks. But you and I both know I was never that important to you.“

 _You were, you were, you still are_. Dream suddenly imagines George would hate him enough to try. If he actually made an effort to persuade him with sweeter words, touch him, seduce him for it. If he really got on his knees, Dream might give the book to him. Die happily in his embrace. Maybe he would. _Maybe._ But he knows that is not what George truly wants. Behind all his apparent apathy, behind his distain - there was still something slumbering. Buried yes, but not gone. George didn’t want him dead or he would simply kiss him right now.

„Are you sure about that George? I think your selling yourself short.“ Quackity’s words cut through his thoughts like a knife and Dream flinches, as he walks towards them, jumping of the bridge. He hadn’t even seen him coming, too lost in George. Dreams mind is still in control, his will remaining unbroken, but his body has suffered to much from Quackity. His presence alone causes a visceral reaction. As if that weren’t humiliating enough, Dream feels his bones grow cold with dread, as he spot the horrible glint of complacency in his eyes.

„We weren’t done yet, Alex.“ George says, barley glancing back at the other man. „Give us a few more minutes.“

„Hmm, I don’t think I will actually.“ Quackity leans against one of the walls, playing with Sam’s axe. He could have looked pensive, if not for the smugness dripping from his lips. Dream feels the air shift, as the balance tumbles down. George is still oblivious to it. He hasn’t realized yet, that his friend is actually his enemy. Quackity doesn’t listen to him anymore. Dream recognizes this look, this greed. He knows that Quackity has gone too far already, far enough for the greed to be corroding him. There was nothing he wouldn’t do now.

Suddenly, for the first time since it had started, there was actual fear clawing at Dreams insides. He tries to hide it, when Quackity looks over, his smile growing wide. They both know what is about to happen.

„There has been a enough talking. I am a very busy man. And as fun as our little sessions have been Dream, I think it is time we wrap this up. Wouldn’t you agree?“ Quackity says, still stroking the axe almost lovingly.

Dream forces his own lips into a grin. „You wound me. Here I was thinking we were just getting used to each other. Were you not enjoying yourself?“

„Oh, I was. Believe me, I was. Maybe I will continue to come here from time to time. Chase away your boredom, you know? But first, I want my answers.“

„I don’t see what-…“ Dream starts, but all the air is pushed out of his lungs, as Quackity rams the dull end of his weapon into George’s stomach. George sinks to his knees immediately, his graceful features contorting in pain. It takes Dream every once of his willpower to stay still, to keep smiling.

He forces out a laugh, making himself appear indifferent. If he can only be convincing enough, Quackity might deem this a failure.

„Brilliant.“ He says, clapping his hands twice in mock applause. “Truly a genius idea. Now Sam will take away your privileges for sure.“

„I won’t need them after today.“

„Whats your plan here?“ Dream asked. _Are you going to kill him?_ He wants to add, but he knows he wouldn’t say it in a condescending tone. It would be drenched in terror, revealing his fear. And if he does that, Quackity will know he won already.

„It’s simple, really. Give me the book or watch your boy die. A slow and excruciating death.“

„Alex-…“ Geore groans from the ground, pain not enough to fully veil his disbelief.

„I am sorry, George. I am.“ Quackity says, sounding anything but remorseful. „But unfortunately, I am also very impatient.“

„I thought we were friends.“ George presses out, raising himself up into a more dignified position, still holding his hands against his body. „Why do you hate me?“

 _Just say that you hate me,_ George had snapped at Dream, petulant tears swimming in his dark eyes. The day he had taken his crown had been sunny. One of the golden ones, back when Dream had felt weightless with power. He had waved George’s anger aside easily, believing it to be rooted in stubbornness. George hadn’t really wanted to be king, never even cared about it. Only when Dream took it away, he threw a tantrum.

Dream had laughed in his face back then, but today his heart bleeds for him. He hears it now, the genuine loss. The fear of a man, plagued by betrayal for all his life. The anguish of a king, wrapped in the petty question of a child.

„Well, I always told you, you are shit at picking friends.“ Quackity says softly to George, looking at Dream again. „I mean, if you hadn’t chosen him, your life certainly would have been easier. Probably longer as well.“

George looks small. Not dainty, not pretty and delicate as he sometimes does in his giant sweaters. Only small. Broken down. Dream had welcomed the punches, the cuts on his skin. They had proven to him that he was still a threat, that people still cared. That his deeds were remembered enough, that he was hated and not forgotten. But George wasn’t like him. He needed to be loved, not abandoned. Betrayed by everyone he knew and trusted.

Dream only has himself to blame as Quackity strikes George again. This time, the wooden handle aims at his jaw. It takes him almost a minute to raise his head after that, blood dripping onto the obsidian. Dream feels like his body is on fire, every muscle burns. Quackity had beaten him worse before, but it never hurt like this. He aches for George, wanting to touch him.

He knows want. It’s familiar, although completely changed. Dream used to be consumed by his lust, craving George’s body, his hungry kiss, his hands on his dick and his nails digging into his back. Wanting to touch, wanting to fuck him, claim every inch, by running his fingers across his skin.

This is different.

This was the reason he had tried to cut ties with everything. Why he had taken George’s throne, why he had banished him from his life. This want was weakness. It was going to be his downfall, as he had always foreseen.

He wishes to touch George still, but there is no urge to claim or conquer. Only to soothe. He could wipe away the blood and cradle him closer. Hold him tight and whispers that everything was going to be alright. This new want is overwhelming, yet somehow he manages to stay still. Dream doesn’t move. Just stares, as the room begins to smell like copper. George small gasps are ringing in his ears louder than any thunder could.

„Your just prolonging the inevitable, Dream.“ Quackity says, with disgusting glee. „If you swallow your pride now, you could spare George a lot of suffering.“

„This isn’t going to work Alex.“ George pants and Dream can see tears mixing with his blood. „He doesn’t care.“

„He's right.“ Dream says, words spilling out of him like acid. „Why should I? Because I used to fuck him? Thats hardly grounds for giving up my life insurance.“

„Fine.“ Quackity sighs. „Just remember, you forced me to do this Dream.“

He steps behind George still sitting on his shins, grabbing a fistful of his raven hair to expose his throat. Dream thinks of the golden days, when he used to pepper kisses onto that very neck. His lips worshipping soft skin that was now pressed against the cold metal of an axe. There is a single tear running down George’s face, clearing a bright line on his red face.

 _I love you,_ Dream thinks. _Forgive me._


End file.
